Page 47

I startle when the front door slams closed, but I don’t stop walking.

He’s following me—I know he is from the shiver that makes its way down my spine.

The second I’m in my kitchen, I reach for a glass and a bottle of scotch I keep in the top cupboard for emergencies.

I slosh a generous measure into the glass before lifting it to my lips and swallowing it in one gulp.

The alcohol burns down my throat.

I slam the glass down with a little more force than necessary, surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand.

“Nash?” Garrett rasps from behind me.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose before releasing it through my lips.

“What happened to your date?” I ask without turning to look at him.

“It wasn’t a date. Not really.”

“It looked like one, from the way you were dancing.” I don’t mean for it to come out so short. I close my eyes for a beat, hating that I’m giving away everything I’m feeling.

“Darcy and I hooked up once when I came to help my sister move last year. That’s it.”

“I’m pretty sure he was gunning for round two tonight.”

Shut the fuck up, Nash.

“Maybe he was. But he’d have been the only one. Darcy is just a friend.”

Disagreement rumbles in my throat, but I don’t say anything else on the matter.

The truth of it is, Garrett isn’t still on the dance floor with Darcy or heading somewhere with him to spend the night together.

Instead, he’s here. With me.

Fuck.

I comb my fingers through my hair, tugging until it hurts.

What the fuck are you doing?

“Are you just going to stand there with your back to me? Or are you going to offer me a drink and face me like a man?”

My jaw tics, and my fists clench at my side.

Slowly, I spin on my heels.

My gaze starts at his shoes before working its way up his slacks that fit his muscular thighs perfectly. It then runs over his slim waist and up to his shoulders—they’re broad, although nowhere close to as wide as mine—before finally getting to his face. His jaw is covered in scruff, his lips are full, and his nose is straight, pointing to the fact that he’s probably never broken it.

Finally, my eyes lock onto his.

His gray-blue orbs are dark and full of hunger, and his hair is messy, flopping onto his brow, begging to be brushed back out of the way.

“W-why are you here?”

Before answering, he does a slow sweep of my body, ensuring that my heart continues to race and my temperature simmers just beneath boiling point.

“You know why I’m here.” He takes a step closer, and his woodsy scent gets stronger with his proximity. “It’s the same reason why you didn’t demand I get out of the car. You want me here just as much as I want to be.